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A   FAKCK.   IN    TWO    A< 


,His  Last  Legs, 


BY 


WILLIAM    BAYLE    BERNARD. 


With  a  Description  of  the  Costumes— Cast  of  the -Characters — Entrance 

and  Exits— Relative   Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the 

Stage,  and  the  whole  of  the  Stage  Business. 


BOSTON 


CAST    OF    CHARACTERS. 


Haymarket,  1839.  Park^  1847. 

•     OJ  Callaghan Mr.  Power.  Mr.  Collins. 

Charles Mr.  Walter  Lacy.  Mr.  A.  Andrews. 

Rivers Mr.  Strickland.  Mr.  Fisher. 

Dr.  Banks. Mr.  Gough.  Mr.  Andrews. 

John Mr.  Gallot. 

Mrs.  Montague Mrs.  W.  Clifford.  Mrs.  Dyott. 

Julia Miss  Travers.  Miss  Kate  Horn. 

Mrs.  Banks..  ..Mrs.  Gallot.  Mrs.  Burrows. 


COSTUMES. 


O'CALLAGHAN. — Black  coat,  buttoned  up  ;  black  pantaloons  ;  Hessian  boots 

shabby  hat ;  linen  mantel,  and  thick  stick. 

CHARLES. — Green  frock  ;  light  drab  trousers  ;  white  waiscoat,  etc. 
RIVERS. — Nankeen  coat ;  breeches  and  gaiters. 
DR.  BANKS.— A  suit  of  black. 
JOHN. — Livery. 

MRS.  MONTAGUE. — A  lilac  silk  gown,  cap,  etc. 
JULIA. — White  muslin  frock. 
MRS.  BANKS. — Brown  silk  dress. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Left;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  I).  Left  Door;  S.  E.  Second  Entrance 
U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  M.  D.  Middle  Door, 


RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Left;  ('.  Centre;   R.  ' '.  A'/.-;///  of  Centre;  L.  C.  Left  of  Centre. 

The  Reader  is  supposed  to  be  on  ihe  Stage,  facing  the  Audience. 


HIS   LAST   LEGS. 


85-5.2, 


ACT    I. 

SCENE  I.  —  A  street  in  a  country  town.  An  academy  stands,  R.  E.,  with 
sign  near  door,  "  BircJis  Classical  Academy."  A  milliner  s  shop 
stands,  L.  E. 

Enter  CHARLES  RJVERSJ,^/'/^  MRS.  MONTAGUE  and  Miss  BANKS,  R. 

(ro-iWs~^,  6£,  Z^,J) 
Charles.  /\  Well,  aunt,  JBMJMS,  your  milliner's;  and  there,  I  see  her  peep- 

ing through  her  window,  in  hopes  of  a  call. 

Mrs.  Montague.     Well,  then,  will  you  join  me  in  my  visit  ? 
•    Cha.     Why,  really,  as  I  am  not  the  slightest  judge  of  bonnets  - 

Mrs.  M.  (aside.}     You  think  that  an  excuse  to  get  a  tete-a-tete  with 
Julia.     Very  well  ;  you  know  I  'm  not  ill-natured  ;  so,  Julia  dear,  you  can 


with  Mr.  Rivers  whilst  I  step  in.     I  won't  be  long. 


[Exit 


•/  // 

*.<  ,  # 


Cha.  And  this,  Julia,  is  our  last  walk  together,  because  my  father  has 
set  his  heart  upon  my  getting  a  degree.  I  must  return  to  college  this  very 
night.  Willy  nilly,  I  must  part  with  you,  and  go  back  to  Greek  and 
Latin  - 

Julia.     To  make  me  happy  as  well  as  him  — 

Cha.     You  happy  ? 

Jit/.  Who,  living  under  his  roof,  and  treated  with  every  kindness,  cannot 
abuse  his  confidence  by  - 

Cha.  And  is  there  any  need  you  should  ?  Have  I  not  said  I  '11  tell  him 
everything? 

Jul.     Still  you  must  rememb*er  there  's  another  to  consult. 
Cha.     Your  mother,  whom  you  expect  from  town  to-morrow. 

Jul.     But  only  to  remain  a  few  days,  as  we  then  set  out  for  France. 
Cha.     For  France  ? 

Jul.     When  our  stay  from  England  will  be  quite  uncertain. 
Cha.     But  what  's  the  cause  of  this  ? 

Jul.     It  relates  to  my  poor  father. 

M35952-4 

A 


4  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT   I. 

Cha.     Indeed ! 

Jul.  You  are  aware  that,  owing  to  an  unfounded  jealousy,  he  separated 
from  my  mother  ten  years  since,  and  went  abroad. 

Cha.     I  have  heard  so. 

Jul.  We  have  lately  been  informed  that  his  health  is  declining,  and,  of 
course,  as  we  are  anxious  to  be  reconciled,  my  mother  is  resolved  to  go  in 
search  of  him,  when,  if  we  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  accomplish  our 
desire 

Cha.  You  '11  sit  down  by  his  side,  and  marry,  perhaps,  some  one  of  his 
choosing. 

Jul.     Of  course  he  'd  claim  a  voice  in  my  disposal. 

Cha.  Whilst  mine  would  be  forgotten — I  see  it  all.  If  you  leave  me  now, 
we  part  forever.  My  mind  's  resolved — I  '11  not  leave  home  to-night. 

Jul.     No  ? 

Cha.  No.  I  '11  not  stir  till  I  have  seen  your  mother,  and  obtained  from 
her  a  pledge  that  my  happiness  shall  be  considered. 

Jul.     But  how  is  that  possible,  when  your  father  is  so  imperative  ? 

Cha.     Why,  if  force  won't  do,  I  '11  try  a  little  stratagem. 

Jul.     A  stratagem  ? 

Cha.  Yes  ;  I  have  always  one  resource.  You  know  ours  is  an  old  family, 
and  I  'm  an  only  son,  consequently  he 's  always  rather  scared  if  anything 's 
the  matter  with  me.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do— I '11  have  a  fit  of 
illness. 

Jul.     A  fit  of  illness  ? 

Cha.  Yes,  right  off.  I  used  to  be  troubled  with  a  swimming  in  the  head 
— I  '11  have  an  attack  as  we  go  home ;  then  I  shall  be  carried  up  to  bed,  a 
physician  will  be  sent  for 

Jul.     And  your  artifice  detected. 

Cha.  Not  so;  our  doctor's  a  deuced  good  old  fellow — I  '11  let  him  into 
the  secret ;  he  '11  recommend  that  I  don't  stir  for  a  week,  and  in  that  time, 
Julia,  I  may  see  your  mother,  and  — 

Jul.     I  cannot  hope  it  will  succeed  ;  and  if  it  should  be  discovered  — 

Cha.  Well,  then  father  can't  complain.  He  wants  me^be^pi^e^ 
master  of  arts,  and  he  '11  see  I  've  some  proficiency  already. \  But  he/efcomes 
my  aunt ;  now,  not  a  word! 

« 

MRS.  MONTAGUE  from  the  milliner  s. 

o  you  been  wnlhing  ?  '- 

TSfca,   -Vos,  wu  'vu  huun  talcing  ft  twn  nr  Urn,  nnrl *—* 

Mrs.  JA  And  what  has  this  pretty  youth  IK-IMI  saving  to  you,  Julia?  If 
it's  any  nonsense  don't  believe  him — he  's  an  arrant  llirt. 

Cha.     \  1><^  you  pardon,  aunt,  I  think  flirting  a  giv.-it  waste  of  time. 


SCENE  i.]  HIS  LAST  LEGS.  5 

Mrs.  M.     Do  you,  Mr.   Moralist?     And  yet  I  can  recollect  how  you. 
waited  it  at  Cheltenham. 

Cha.  Nearly  as  much  as  you  did  there  before  me;  do  you  think  I  never 
heard  how  you  went  on  with  a  Mr.  O'CalUghan  ? 

Mrs.  M.     Oh,  nonsense. 

t 'ha.  It  was  no  nonsense  then,  for  you  know  you  'd  have  married  him  if 
it  hadn  't  been  for  grandfather. 

Jitl.  (R.)     Why,  I  've  never  heard  of  this. 

Cha.  (c.)     Have  n't  you  ?     Oh,  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it. 

Mrs.  M.     Really,  Charles,  I  wish  you  'd  hold  your  tongue. 

Cha.  You  must  know  this  Mr.  O'Callaghan  was  the  reigning  star  of 
Cheltenham — kept  his  hounds  and  horses*— and,  amongst  other  proofs  of  his 
good  taste,  fell  in  love  with  my  aunt.  Her  father,  however,  wishing  her  to 
have  a  man  in  Scotland,  whipped  her  away,  and  soon  after  her  gay  Irish 
swain,  having  spent  all  his  fortune  — 

Mrs.  M.  Went  over  to  France  and  soon  aUer^tv/  there.  Now  you  Ve 
heard  the  whole  story.  (^  ^4rfi-?rrt*^i^i*-J^2/,i32t££dr,  R.)  Eh !  why, 
that 's  the  London  coach.  Come,  come,  Charles,  they  '11  be  waiting  dinner; 
you  know  you  start  for  Cambridge  at  eight. 

Cha.  (asttfc.)  Do  I,  aunt  ?  don't  be  so  sure  of  that.  Not  a  bad  hint, 
though ;  my  disorder  ought  to  be  commencing.  I  '11  give  her  a  few 
symptoms. 

J/r.s-.  M.  Now,  don't  delay ;  you  know  how  your  father  dislikes  to  be 
kept  waiting.  Eh  !  why,  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Cha.  (shaking  his  head.)  Why,  really,  I  don't  know,  but  I've  a  very 
odd  feeling  in  my  head — a  sort  of  swimming. 

Mrs.  M.     Good  heavens !     I  hope  not. 

Cha.  Yes,  everything  is  turning  round.  It  really  seems,  now,  as  if  the 
pnmp  there  was  having  a  waltz  with  the  workhouse. 

Mrs.  M.     Will  you  rn  inmnmi  n  1 ~n    1  sit  down  ? 

Cha.     No,  I  'd  rather  go  home — that  is,  if  I  am  able. 

Mrs.  M.     Then  walk  slowly,  and  lean  on  me,  Charles. 

Cha.  Thank  you,  aunt,  thank  you.  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  better  by  and 
by.  I  have  no  doubt  that  by  eight  o'clock  I  shall  be  quite  restored— (aside) 
don't  you,  Julia  ?  (Exeunt,  L.,  CHARLES  leaning  on  MRS.  MONTAGUE, 
and  looking  tenderly  at  MlSS  BANKS. 

Enter  DR.  BANKS,  R. 

Dr.  Banks.  Yes,  I  can't  be  mistaken,  though  'tis  ten  years  since  we 
parted — it  must  be  she — my  own  sweet  child  !  Now,  how  to  fulfill  my 
object — to  separate  her  from  her  mother,  and  take  her  back  with  me  to 
France  !  I  can  't  use  force — my  hope  rests  solely  on  persuasion.  Luckily 
I  find  that  she  's  alone  here  on  a  visit ;  my  plan,  then,  is  to  see  her  privately. 


HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT   I. 


and  throw  myself  on  her  affection ;  but  how  can  this  be  done  ?  I  want 
some  friend  to  help  me — some  one  who  will  take  a  letter  to  her,  and  pro- 
cure an  interview.  (O'CALLAGHAN  heard  without. ) 

O'Callaghan.     Oh,  that 's  the  house  is  it  ?  thank  ye,  sir. 

Dr.B.     Eh!  who's  this  coming?    .ry  Irish  fellow-passenger. 


: 


O'CALLAGHAN  enters,  R.,  in  a  shabby-genteel  suit,  dusty  from  traveling* 

O'Cal.  So,  then,  my  journey 's  at  an  end,  and  hci'c.  's  my  destination — 
"Birch's  Classical  Academy." 

Dr.  B.     Good  day  again,  sir. 

O'Cal.     Ah,  sir,  your  servant.     Do  you  proceed  with  the  coach,  or 

Dr.  B.     No,  sir,  I  think  of  staying  here  a  day  or  two. 

O'Cal.  You  do  ?  Well,  that 's  odd  enough.  Do  you  know,  sir,  that 's 
my  case ;  I  like  to  go  somewhere  for  the  summer,  and  as  London  just  now 
happens  to  be  too  hot  to  hold  me  

Dr.  B.     You  Ve  friends  here,  I  presume  ? 

O'Cal.  Yes,  sir,  a  liberal  one.  (Looking  at  the  academy?)  A  gentleman 
who  opens  his  doors  to  all  classes. 

Dr.B.     Indeed — one  of  the  old  school? 

O'Cal.     Yes,  sir,  a  very  old  school.     {Aside.)     Established  a  century. 

Dr.  B.  Do  you  know,  sir,  I  think  I  Ve  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
before.  Your  name,  I  believe,  is  — 

O'Cal.  O'Callaghan,  sir — Felix  O'Callaghan,  of  Kilmony  Abbey — (aside 
some  years  ago. 

Dr.B.     O'Callaghan?     Any  connection  with  the  army  ? 

O'Cal.     No,  sir,  though  I  've  had  some  knowledge  of  the  Fleet. 

Dr.  B.  (aside.)  I  wonder  if  this  person  would  assist  me ;  he  's  evidentl 
poor,  and  I  think  good-tempered. 

O'Cal.  (aside.)  There's  a  cut  about  my  friend  here  that  puzzles  m 
He  's  too  well  dressed  for  a  thief,  and  too  melancholy  for  a  bailiff. 

Dr.  B.     Perhaps,  sir,  if  you  're  not  engaged,  you  '11  dine  with  me  to-day  ? 

O'Cal.  Really,  sir,  I  thank  you,  but  the  fact  is,  I  am  engaged.  I  came 
here  on  a  trifling  business,  and  — 

Dr.  //.     The  task  you  've  undertaken  is 

O'Cal.     Not  to  undertake  tasks,  but  to  set  them. 

Dr.  B.     To  set  them  ? 

O'Cal.     Yes,  sir.     I  dare  say,  now,  you  would  n't  guess  my  profession  ? 

Dr.  B.     I  confess,  sir,  I  am  at  a  loss. 

O'Cal.  Of  course,  sir,  you  're  aware  of  the  great  interest  just  now  on  the 
subject  of  education  ? 

Dr.  />'.     Yes,  sir. 

O'Cal.  Well,  sir,  you  rrust  know,  then,  that,  partaking  in  the  phila 
thropic  spirit  of  the  times,  I  have  resolved  to  devote  myself  to  the  welfare 


: 

ire 


SCEM    i.J  HIS   LAST   Lr.r.s.  7 

of  youth.  I  have  come  here,  sir,  to  taclu-  reading^nd/vmting,  and  a  correct 
accent  in  English,  to  the  rising  generation  in^Mrtemple  of  Minerva. 

/>f.  />'.     Why.  1  iK'vrr  should  have  thought  it ! 

O'Cal.  I  dare  say  not,  sir.  I  've  no  doubt  I  look  as  if  I  had  more  to  do 
with  the  sinking  generation  than  the  rising. 

7V.  />.     Why,  really,  sir,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  it 

( > 'c  \j/.  Of  course,  of  course.  The  fact  is,  sir,  you  see  before  you  one  of 
the  unluckiest  devils  going.  Talk  of  being  born  under  an  evil  star!  I 
think  mine  was  ayfavv/one.  For  the  last  dozen  years,  sir,  I  've  been  the 
football  of  Fortune,  and  not  a  gutter  could  she  find  that  I  have  n't  been 
kicked  into. 

/V  B.     Then  I  presume,  sir,  you  were  once  well  off? 

O'Cal.  Well  off,  sir?  I  had  one  of  the  best  estates  in  Ireland;  I  had 
as  fine  a  set  of  tradesmen  as  a  man  could  be  born  to ;  I  had  a  tailor  and  a 
stable-keeper  and  butcher  and-baker  that  had  n't-keeftvpttW -since  the  death 
of  my  grandfather !  It  was  utterly  impossible  to  be  in  asier  circumstances ; 
but  to  show  you  the  doom,  sir,  that  from  my  boyhood  hung  over  me,  one  of 
them  chose  to  die,  and  another  to  hang  himself,  till  at  last,  sir,  they  left  me 
in  a  state  of  destitution.  Yes,  sir,  they  had  the  cruelty  to  lave  me  to  get 
my  own  living,  after  leading  me  to  think  that  they  'd  keep  me  all  my  days, 
and  even  bury  me  afterwards. 

Dr.  B.     That  was  unfortunate. 

O'Cal.  It  was,  sir.  After  that  I  was  reduced  to  the  disgrace  of  living  on 
my  wits,  and,  by  my  honor,  I  found  them  a  worse  stock  than  South  Ameri- 
can shares.  Would  you  believe  it,  sir,  that  I  Ve  tried  a  hundred  schemes 
for  a  living,  and  not  one  of  'em  's  answered.  I  Ve  failed,  sir,  as  often  as 
tne  most  flourishing  tradesman.  Call  Fortune  inconstant !  by  my  honor, 
sir,  she  's  been  as  constant  to  me  as  a  thunder-storm  in  the  tropics.  I  'II 
give  you  a  proof,  sir.  I  wrote  a  book  upon  charity,  which  lodged  me  in 
prison  ;  I  invented  a  steam-engine,  which  scalded  all  my  shareholders  ;  and 
I  opened  a  ball-room  at  a  watering-place  in  the  year  it  had  the  cholera !  At 
last,  sir,  finding  that,  like  corn  in  a  sack,  with  every  shake  I  got  lower,  I 
resolved  to  give  up  the  struggle,  and  bury  myself  in  some  calm  country 
nook,  when,  happening  to  see  an  advertisement  from  a  school  in  this  vil- 
lage   

Dr.  B.     You  're  now  become  its  teacher. 

O'Cal.  Yes,  sir.  This  is  the  age  of  revolutions,  and  you  now  see  mine — 
a  fellow  \vho  once  set  examples  to  dandies,  destined  henceforward  to  set 
copies  to  boys. 

Dr.  B.  (aside .)  This  is  the  very  person  for  my  purpose.  (Aloud.} 
Well,  sir,  I  sympathize  in  your  reverses,  and  shall  be  happy,  when  you  're 
settled,  if  you  '11  oblige  me  with  a  call.  I  shall  be  staying  at 

O'C*-*.    Sir,  I  shall  be  most  happy. 


8  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT  I. 


Dr.  B.  There 's  my  card,  if  you  should  ever  go  to  Paris.  (Gives  tt.) 
And  perhaps  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  this  evening.  (Aside.) 
The  very  man  for  me — he  wants  money,  and  he  has  address.  (Goes  off, 
L.,  O'CALLAGHAN  looks  at  the  card.) 

O'Cal.     "  Dr.  Banks,  No.  15  Rue  de  la  Victorie,  Paris."     A  very  civil  old 
gentleman.    Well,  then,  now  for  my  new  abode.    I  must  put  myself  to  rights, 
though.     My  wardrobe's  in  a  very  delicate  state  of  health,  and  a  brush//, 
would  just  now  be  a  dangerous  cathartic.      I  was  obliged  to  have  my  coat*- 
turned  for  this  journey,  though  that  I  didn't  mind — I  'm  not  the  first  man 
that 's  turned  his  coat  to  get  into  office.     My  trousers  I  resuscitated  with  a 
bottle  of  "Scott's  Reviver" — that's  what  I  call  being  reduced  to  a  dyer 
necessity.     Come,  now,  that  will  do;  and  I  hope  they  haven't  done  dinner. 
My  ride  from  London  has  given  me  an  appetite ;  I  feel  as  if  I  could  illustrate 

a  lecture,  on.  .geology-^hqw  the.  beauty  of  ihe  system  of  one  layer  upon 
L/jLj?$i^~&  ^~jrrr  *>• « */V*  £-1 )  *f™c^** 

another^  Mir.viJiJiifcfXKf  mnnir..-vf  r..Ti)  •'And  tte^is  my  future  home.     These 

hallowed  cells,  "where  ever-musing  Meditation  dwells."  Welcome,  then, 
thrice  welcome  to  ye,  venerable  pile !  To  your  calm  shades,  like  the  Roman 
of  old,  do  I  retreat  from  contention.  Like  another  Cincinnatus  I  turn  my 
back  on  the  capital  and  say,  "  Fortune,  thou  Janus,  I  defy  thee  for  the 
future  !  "  (^•yunW  iiyVirr  /.frr  rfciir-,'  /ft1  .jjwj  en.) 


JOHN  runs  in,  L. 

John.  Here's  a  pretty  business — my  young  master  taken  ill,  and  no 
doctor  to  be  found.  I  Ve  been  to  our  surgeon,  and  he 's  been  called  away 
to  Cambridge ;  what 's  to  be  done  ?  there  's  only  an  apothecary  besides  in 
the  village.  Well,  I  must  run  to  him — I  can't  return  without  assistance. 
Dear,  dear,  was  ever  anything  so  cruel !  [Runs  off, 


O'CALLAGHAN  awn  j-/ru;,u  \n*  miKL'jwi ;  followed  by  THOMAS. 

O'Cal.     I  tell  you,  sir,  you're  wrong — it  can't  be. 

Thomas.     Indeed,  it's  true,  sir — our  new  uslicr  arrived  yesterday t 

O'Cal.     But  I  tell  you,  sir,  /'/;/  the  man  !     I  answered  the  advertisement 
and  accepted  the  terms. 

Thos.  Yes,  sir,  but  I  think  I  heard  my  master  say  you  didn't  reply  b 
the  time  he  mentioned,  so,  as  the  school  opened  to-day  and  he  could  n' 
wait 

O'Ca/.     Then  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  after  coming  down  here,  fifty- 
miles  from  London,  I  find  another  man  in  my  shoes? 

77,'o.     I  'm  sure  I  'm  very  sorry,  sir. 

O'Cal.     Sorry,  sir? 

T/io.     It's  all  owing  to  a  mistake,  sir. 

O'Or/.     Mistake?  it's. -in  insult;  and  if  your  master  was  a  gentleman 
How  will  he  dare  show  his  face  to  me  at  dinner- 


* 


SCENE  i.J  H:S  LAST  LEI  9 

Tho.     At  dinner,  sir?  , 

<>'(  '<//.     Yes,  sir;  how  will  he  have  the  fan:  even  to  ;isk  me  to  sleep  lyai'tij  ^  Xto  X< 
7//<>.    To  sleep  i*  IT, -si iO    p»v  Jt*x>  &*%u«^  ^Y. 

O'Cai.     Yes,  sir,  of  cours  •  he's  got  a  bed  for  me. 

.      Indeed  lie  hasn't,  sir;  WC  have- n't  room  toerani  a  satchel  in. 
.'/.      '('hen  where  am 
7 ho.     Yoi:  '!!  get  a  good  be;l  at  the  inn,  sir. 

'/.     Thesinn,  sir!     Divil  burn  it,  do  you  lake  niefor  Crcesjjs,  ,sir? 
who's    to    pay    the    i:m.    sir?     I  insist    on  stayin 


Tho.     I  said  he  was  from  home,  sir. 

O'Cal.     Not  at  home? 

Tho.     No,  sir. 

O'Cal.     And  where  's  he  gone  to  ? 

Tho.     He 's  gone  to  York,  sir,  and  won't  be  back  till  Christmas. 
/;;,  and  shuts  door  in  flat,  R.) 

O'Cal.  The  unnatural  old  villain  !  to  turn  me  off  in  this  way  upon  the 
dirtiest  quibble,  and  even  refuse  me  a  mouthful  of  dinner!  I'll  go  bail, 
now,  that  that  fellow  would  skin  a  flint  for  a  living,  and  make  soup  of  the 
shavings.  By  my  soul,  if  I  could  find  him,  I  'd  set  his  boys  a  copy  !  I  'd 
rule  his  back  with  my  stick  from  the  neck  to  the  crupper,  and  write  rogue 
in  round  text  between  every  line  of  it.  So,  then,  after  all  my  hopes  and 
troubles,  I've  failed  again!  I  thought  I'd  come  to  the  worst  when  I 
consented  to  turn  jackass  among  this  fellow's  chickens,  but  no,  Felix,  my 
friend — even  this  was  too  good  for  you  !  What  the  devil  ''s  to  be  done  ? 
Here  am  I  in  a  strange  place,  at  the  close  of  day,  with  only  one  and  nine- 
pence — in  my  pocket — one  shilling  and  one  ninepence — the  sole  survivors 
of  the  last  respected  sovereign  that  reigned  in  my  dom.nions ! 

Re-enter  JOHN,  hastily,  f\^ 

John.  What  will  be  done ! — the  apothecary's  ill  in  bed  with  rheumatism ; 
he  can't  be  moved  upon  a  litter.  (Crosses,  R.) 

O'Cal.     Only  this? — why,  it  would  n't  pay  for  the  loan  of  a  toothpick  ! 

John.     If  he  doesn't  get  assistance  he '11  be  dead  before  the  morning. 

O'Cal.     What  can  be  bought  with  one  shilling  and  one  ninepence ! 

John.     Master,  I  know,  would  give  a  hundred  pounds. 

O'Cal.  (turning?)     A  hundred  pounds! — for  what? 

John.  A  doctor,  sir;  younger. fivers  has  been  taken  ill.  Our  physi- 
cian is  from  home,  and ^  Eh  !  who's  that  going  into  his  house?  per- 
haps he's  come  back;  I  '11  run  and  see.  (Runs  ojf,  R.) 

O'Cal.  A  hundred  pounds ! — is  there  so  much  money  in  the  world  ? — 
and  for  a  doctor !  a  fellow  whose  business  is  to  play  chequers  with  the 
nation.  The  game  with  his  fraternity  b,  who  '11  move  off  the  most.  By 

Jsy 


IO 


HIS    LAST    LEGS. 


LCT 


my  honor,  I  think,  if  there  's  one  delusion  going  that 's  greater  than  another, 
it.'s.  what  they  call  doctoring,  which  I  take  to  be  the  art  of  amusing  a 
patient  while  Nature  performs  the  cure.  A  hundred  pounds  for  one,  and 
no  one  to  be  found !  I  wonder  if  /  could  be  of  any  use  here  ! — I  know 
something  of  horse-doctoring,  if  that  would  do ;  and  I  always  carry  about 
me  a  case  of  surgical  instruments — a  jack-knife  with  seven  blades.  (  Takes 
it  out.)  Let  me  reflect.  I  've  tried  a  hundred  schemes,  for  which  I  was 
well  qualified,  and  every  one  has  failed  ! — who  knows,  now,  if  I  were  to  try 
4>n*e  of  which'  I  know*  nothing,  but  what  I  should  succeed? 

Re-enter  JOHN,  R. 

John,  (R.)     No,  it  was  not  him  ! — he  '11  not  be  back  till  midnight. 

O'Cal.  (aside,  L.)     For  a  feel  of  his  pulse,  and  a  shake  of  my  head, 
might  get  a  fee  that  would  take  me  back  to  London. 
»   John.     My  poor  young  master ! — then  there 's  no  hope  for  him  ! 

O'Cal.     Young  man,  I'm  a  stranger  here;  but  if  /can  be  of  any  se 
vice 

John.     What,  sir  !  are  you  a  doctor  ? 

O'Cal.     Why,  I  profess  medicine.     (Aside.)     And  that 's  true  enough, 
as  I  know  nothing  about  it. 

John.     And  will  you  come  with  me,  sir  ? 

O'Cal.     Of  course  I  will.     I  '11  see  your  master;  but  remember — I  don't 
say  I  can  do  him  any  good. 

John.     But  you  '11  try,  sir  ? 

O'Cal.     To  be  sure  I  will— I  '11  try. 

John.     Well,  sir,  no  one  can  do  more. 

O'Cal.     Of  course  not ;  and  in  my  case  (aside)  no  one  can  do  less. 

Well,  then,  you  may  run  on  and  announce  me.     Stop (He  pauses  ; 

JOHN  runs  off  at  back  and  turns.)  What  urges  me  to  undertake  this 
step?  what,  but  the  source  of  all  great  undertakings — hunger!  Arts, 
books  and  revolutions — all  have  owed  their  origin,  not  to  the  heart  or 
brain,  but  to  the  stomach ;  ergo,  I  have  the  warrant  of  all  the  sages  of 
antiquity ! 

John.     Now,  sir,  don't  stay,  for  heaven's  sake  !     My  master  may  be  h 
dead. 

O'Cal.  (aside.)     And  if  he  isn't,  I  am.     So  go  along,  young  man  ;   I  ' 
sure  of  one  thing:  if  I  don't  cure  his  complaint,  I  shall  mine.     (Follows 
JOHN  off,  L.) 


: 


SCENE  II.— A  chamber  at  MR.    RIVKRS';    MRS.    MONTAGTK,    R.,    an 
CHARLES  reclining  on  a  sofa,  c.,  discovered ;  a  table  with 
materials,  L. 

Enter  RIVERS,  L. 
Riv.     How  is  he  now,  Lyddy? 


SCENK   I.]  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  1  l 

Mrs.  M.     Why,  not  in  so  much  pain,  I  think,  but  still  MTV  restless. 

/iVV'.  (i..)  It's  really  most  surprising ;  he  was  quite  well  this  morning — 
swallowed  a  breakfast  for  a  ploughman  ;  half  a  dozen  eggs,  nearly  a  pound 
of  ham,  and  I  think  a  quart  of  coffee. 

Mrs.  M.     He  first  complained  as  we  were  about  to  leave  the  village, 
gradually  gre\v  worse  as  we  crossed  the  fields,  and  when  we  reached  tin- 
door  —  (CHARLES  groans  and  hicks  ;  they  run  to  him.} 
a.     Oh! 

Rn>.  Poor  boy,  what  suffering  he  's  in  ;  that  scoundrel  of  a  John  to  stay 
so,  and  that  brute  of  a  doctor. 

Mrs.  M.     Charles,  are  you  better  now?  tell  us  where  your  pain  is. 

C/ia.  Why,  aunt,  just  at  present  there's  a  gnawing  sensation  here — 
another  there — and  now,  the  spasm  comes  again — oh ! 

AY?'.     My  poor  dear  boy  ! 

. 

BETTY  runs  in,  L. 

Betty.     John  has  come  back,  sir,  but  he  has  brought  a  stranger  with  him, 

Riv.     A  stranger? 

Jiff.     Yes,  sir,  a  gentleman  from  London. 

A'/?-.  Why,  who  can  it  be?  Lyddy,  try  to  compose  Charles  a  little, 
whilst  I  go  and  see  him.  [Exit,  L. 

Jfrs.  M.  Your  head  aches  still,  Charles  ?  here 's  some  more  eau-de- 
cologne.  Eh,  no,  I  've  emptied  the  bottle.  Betty,  run  up  to  my  room,  and 
in  the  drawer  nearest  to  the  window — stay,  I'll  go  for  it  myself;  do  you 
stay  and  watch  him.  {Exit,  R. 

Bet.  I  stay  and  watch  him  ?  I  had  much  rather  not.  I  never  had  cour- 
age to  turn  nurse,  or  I  might  have  had  a  charming  situation  in  a  small-pox 
hospital.  Suppose,  now,  he  should  go  out  of  his  mind  ? — he  looks  very 

strange.  Why,  he 's  getting  up — he  's  going  to  spring  at  me Here  \ 

murder!  help!  (She  runs  off,  L. ;  he  jumps  up,  Liu^Jiir.g^) 

Cha.  Ha,  ha!  Victory,  victory!  Was  ever  father  and  cousin,  and 
faithful  maid  servant,  so  finely  bamboozled.  Well,  my  first  point's  gained. 
I  shan't  leave  home  to-night ;  the  question  is,  shall  I  remain  over  to-morrow  ? 
that  depends  upon  the  doctor,  and  I  think  there 's  no  fear  of  his  consent, 
when  I  have  once  explained  my  secret.  Eh  !  there 's  some  one  coming,  I 
must  back  to  my  sofa ;  I  must  have  a  relapse.  (  Throws  himself  on  the 
sofa  and  begins  to  kick  ;  RIVERS  returns  with  O'CALLAGHAN,  L.) 

Riv.  Here 's  your  patient,  sir ;  and  as  I  stated  to  you,  the  attack  has 
been  most  sudden — he  was  quite  well  this  morning,  and — (O'CALLAGHAN 
goes  up  to  CHARLES,  and  feels  his  pulse?)  Rather  an  odd-looking  man, 
and  a  stranger.  I  should  be  cautious — but  then,  what  have  looks  to  do 
with  talents  ?  If  we  judged  nuts  by  their  shells,  who,  pray,  would  crack 


12  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT 

them?     (O'CALLAGHAN  comes  down,  R.,  and  looks  gravely  at  RIVERS. 
Well,  sir,  what 's  your  opinion  ? 

O'Cal.     May  I  ask,  sir,  if  that  young  gentleman  is  your  only  son? 

Riv.     He  is,  sir. 

O'Cal.     I  regret  to  hear  it.     May  I  ask  if  he  has  a  mother,  sir? 

Riv.     No,  sir,  she  has  been  dead  some  years. 

O'Cal.     Well  I  'm  glad  to  hear  that. 

Riv.     Why  glad,  sir? 

O'Cal.     Why,  sir,  painful  as  the  task  may  be,  I  feel  I  should  be  wanti 
in  my  duty  if  I  did  not  acquaint  you  that 

Riv.     Good  heavens  !  do  you  mean  to  say  there 's  any  danger  ? 

O'Cal.     There  's  more  than  danger,  sir. 

Riv.     Is  it  possible  ? 

O'Cal.     That  amiable  young  man,  sir,  cannot  exist  six  hours. 

Cha.  (lifting  hit  head ;  aside.)     What 's  that  ? 

Riv.     But  what 's  his  complaint,  sir  ? 

O'Cal.     Why,  sir,  I  confess  that  puzzles  me.     I  can't  say  I  ever  saw 
before,  but  I  can  explain  its  origin.     It 's  what  we  call  &  febrifuge — that  i 
you  see,  the  pineal  gland  having  been  morbidly  excited  by  the  peritoneu 
ducts,  a  contractility  has  ensued  of  the  cellular  tissue  of  the  cavernous 
membrane;, you  understand  me? 

Riv.     Perfectly. 

O'Cal.  (aside  ^)     Then  you  are  a  wiser  man  than  I  am.     This,  you  see, 
sir,  must  be  fatal  unless  instantly  checked  ;  however,  my  treatment 's  ve 
decided,'  so  I  shall  proceed  to  bleed  him,  sir,  and  you  will  oblige  me 
ordering  up  a  tub. 

Cha.  (aside.)     A  ////;/ 

O'Cal.  When  I  have  relieved  him  of  a  gallon  or  two,  I  shall  shave  his 
head,  apply  a  blister  to  his  back  and  stomach,  and  then  with  a  draught 
every  hour,  and  a  dozen  leeches  to  his  eyelids,  I  think  he  may  do. 

(.  'ha.  (.isid<:.)     Do  !  yes  I  shall  do,  for  a  coffin. 

Riv.     This  draught,  sir,  of  course,  must  be  obtained  directly.     There ' 
paper  on  the  table,  will  you  write  for  it?  . 

O'Cal.     1  will,  sir.     (Sits  at  the  table  and  writes,  fc\     So  far,  so  wel 
now  for  the  prescription. 

A'/,-',  (iix/ti't-.)     His  treatment  is  decided,  certainly.     Why,   he  talks 
taking  blood  from  a  man  like  beer  from  a  vat. 

O'Cal.  (rising  isith  paper.}     There,  I  think  that  it  is  in  the  usual  style. 

is  //.  i     "  (  'a/— Sen — Siis—J/yitrurg — /'// — three  snakes'  tails  and  a 

lot  of  triangles."     To  be  sure,  the  apothecary  won't  be  able  to  read  it,  but 

so  much  the  better,  then;  for  once  in   his  life,  he  can't  do  any  mischief. 

There,  sir,  you'll  get  that  made  up  as  soon  as  possible. 

/.'/r-.     In  half  an  hour,  sir,  my  servant  shall  go  with  it  on  horsebac 
Here,  Robin  !  John  ! 


I 


SCENE  ii.]  HIS   i  AST  LEGS.  13 

Cha.     Now  I  think  it's  time  to  put  a  stop  to  this  murdrr,  sir. 

aCal.     What's  this? 

Cha.     You  '11  allow  me  to  acquaint  you  that 

O'Cal.     Not  indisposed  ? 

Cha.  (R.)  Yes,  sir,  1  am  indisposed  to  undergo  your  treatment.  I  '11  not 
trouble  you  to  take  away  a  gallon  of  my  blood,  nor  do  I  think  it  would  im- 
prove my  personal  appearance  to  have  twenty  leeches  hanging  to  my  eye- 
lids. 

O'Cal.    Then  I  have  been  imposed  upon, 

C/ni.  Why,  of  course,  I  don't  deny  I  Ve  deceived  you,  but  if  you'll  al- 
low me  to  state  the  cause 

()'t  'aL  (aside.)     Phew  !  here  's  a  deliverance.     (Crosses  to  R.) 

CAa.J^I'm  sure  you  '11  see  the  necessity,  and 

O'Cal.  Then,  in  few  words,  sir,  for  some  purpose  of  your  own  you  have 
presumed  to  trifle  with  your  friends,  and  offer  this  insult  to  a  member  of 
the  faculty. 

Cha.     Insult,  sir — I  meant  no  insult,  sir. 

O'Cal.  But  you  have  done  it,  sir;  you  have  chosen  to  bring  into  con- 
tempt one  of  the  most  respectable  professions.  I  have  but  one  reply :  to 
call  in  your  father,  expose  your  conduct,  and  —  -  (^&t*w{^  <£^  , 

Cha.  No,  no  ;  for  heaven's  sake,  sir;  I  'm  sure  when  you  know  the  rea- 
son of  my  artifice,  you  will  pity  and  forgive  it.  It  was  a  last  resource  to 
preserve  my  happiness — to  remain  near  a  lovely  and  devoted  girl,  who  is 
about  to  leave  the  country. 

(  YCaL  But  \vhat  is  this  to  me,  sir?  you  have  brought  me  here,  a  perfect 
stranger,  wasted  my  time,  trifled  with  my  feelings 

Cha.  And  do  you  think  without  a  view  to  recompense?  If  twenty 
guineas  will  be  any  compensation  — 

O'Cal.     Twenty  guineas ! 

Cha.     I  offer  it  with  pleasure. 

O'Cal.     Well,  sir,  since  you  throw  yourself  upon  my  humanity 

Cha.     Exactly  so. 

O'Cal.  Since  you  confide  in  my  feelings,  and  have  not  scrupled  to  dis- 
close to  me  your  secret 

Cha.     Yes,  sir. 

O 'Cat.  I  feel  I  should  respond  to  your  appeal  by  imparting  to  you  a  se- 
cret in  reply. 

Cha.     Indeed ! 

O'Cal.     You've  assured  me,  on  your  honor,  that  you're  no  sick  man. 

Cha.     No,  sir. 

O'Cal.  Allow  me,  then,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  to  acquaint  you  in 
return  that  I  am  no  doctor! 

Cha.     What 's  that  ? 


14  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT 

O'Cal.     But,  on  the  contrary,  a  patient  like  yourself,  who  has  undergo 
a  deal  of  bad  treatment. 

Cha.     Then  what  brought  you  here,  sir  ? 

O'Ca/.     Ah  !  there  my  object  was  medical  enough — I  came  for  a  fee. 

C/ia.     And  you  have  had  the  impudence  to  torture  my  feelings  and  i 
pose  upon  my  respected  parent. 

O'Ca/.     Why,  on  the  point  of  impudence,  I  really  don't  think  we  should 
be  vain  on  either  side. 

Cha.     I  'm  thunderstruck  ! 

O'Ca/.     Well,  sir,  if  your  keen  sense  of  morality  is  so  greatly  outraged, 
of  course  I  '11  leave  the  house,  and 

Cha.     No,  no ;  I  did  n't  say  that ;  but — ha,  ha !  upon  my  word,  it ' 
odd. 

O'Cal.     Is  n't  it? 

Cha.     You  're  from  Ireland,  I  perceive. 

O'Cal.     Yes,  sir. 

Cha.     Any  business  ? 

O'Cal.     Why,  I  have  taught  the  sciences. 

Cha.     In  what  branch  ? 

O'Cal.     Comparative  anatomy.     I  Ve  illustrated,  for  the  last  si 
how  a  man,  like  a  chameleon,  may  live  upon  air. 

Cha.     Well,  I  must  say  you  look  as  if  you  had  been  running  down  hill. 

O'Cal.     Yes,  sir;  and  as  if  I  had   been  having  my  run  on  the  side  of 
the  Andes.     I  've  been  running  down  hill  for  the  last   ten  years,  and  di 
take  me  if  I  can  get  to  the  bottom. 

Cha.     Well,  if  it 's  worth  your  while  to   stop  here,  I  don  't  see  why  our 
agreement  should  be  vitiated. 

O'Cal.     You  don't? 

Cha.     If  the  twenty  guineas  will  pay  you  for  your  delay,  we  may  as 
retain  our  characters.     I  can  continue  my  illness,  and  — 

O'Cal.     I  can  cure  you,  now  I  know  your  disease. 

Cha.     Then  it 's  a  bargain  ? 

O'Cal.     There 's  my  hand. 

Cha.     Agreed ;  but,  I  say,  you  must  take  care  of  one  thing — our  doct 
he'll  be  sure  to  call,  and  if  he  should  talk  to  you  — 

O'Cal.     He'll  illustrate  the  Latin  maxim,  "Ex  nihilo,  nilyf/." 

Cha.     Well,  then,  that  point's  settled.     I  shall  maintain  my  acquaint- 
ance with  my  dearest  Julia  — 

O'Cal.     And  I  renew  my  acquaintance  with  a  dinner  table. 

C/in.     I  la,  ha!     If  you  'd  like  to  extend  your  practice,  I  can  help  you 
a  patient.     Here  's  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Montague,  is  rather  poorly. 

O'Cal.     Who  ? 

Cha.     Mrs.  Montague. 


SCENE  11  ]  HIS  LAST   i  :  15 

<  >\  'a/.     "  That  well-known  name  awakens  all  my  woes!"     May  I  ask  if 
the  lady  comes  from  Yorkshire? 

0.     She  does. 

O'Cal.     And  her  maiden  name  was 

(  7t<i.     Rivers. 

ti'Ciif.  ^:\/«/rM     By  all  the  graces  it's  herself!     Here  would  be  a  meet. 
ing.     I  should  be  blown  directly,  lose  my  twenty  pounds,  and  — 
.  (tut/sSi/i'.)     Betty,  send  John  up  the  instant  he  comes  in. 
.     Eh  !  here  's  my  father  coming. 

<  >'<.'<?/.     Well,  then,  down  with  you,  and  pretend  to  sleep.     I   must  give 
the  old  fellow  a  taste  of  my  ability.     (CHARLES  returns  to  the  sofa,  and 
composes  himself ;  O'CALLAGHAN  takes  a  chair.) 

Enter  RIVERS,  L. 

Riv.     Well,  sir,  I  have  dispatched  a  servant;  and  how  is  he  now? 

O'Cal.     Observe ! 

Riv.     Asleep ! 

O'Cal.     Yes,  sir,  as  tranquilly  as  when  he  rested  on  his  mother's  bosom. 

Riv.     I  declare,  so  he  is. 

O'Cal.  When  he  wakes,  I  Ve  no  doubt  you  '11  see  a  great  change  in 
him. 

Riv.  Why,  sir,  you  're  a  conjurer.  I  left  him  in  agonies,  and  he 's  now 
at  rest,  without  the  appearance  of  a  throb ;  how  did  you  effect  this  singu- 
lar transition  ? 

O'Cal.  Why,  sir,  I  don't  like  broaching  the  secrets  of  our  art,  but  if 
you  really  wish  to  know 

Riv.     I  have  the  greatest  desire. 

O'Cal.  Well,  then,  sir,  of  course  you've  heard  of  the  agency  of  mag- 
netism ? 

Riv.     Magnetism? 

O'Cal.  That  fact  in  physics  that  when  two  people  come  together  who 
correspond  in  temperament,  the  one  has  the  power  to  control  the  motions 
of  the  other. 

Riv.     I  have  heard  of  it. 

O'Cal.  Well,  sir,  seeing  that  your  son's  disorder  was  not  of  the  common 
kind,  I  resolved  to  try  its  intluence.  I  soon  discovered  that  there  was  an 
affinity  between  us,  and  that  it  lay  in  my  power  to  be  of  service  to  him. 
So,  as  we  say,  sir,  I  put  myself  in  a  "state  of  agreement  with  him,"  and 
you  see  the  result — his  pain  disappeared,  his  anxiety  ceased. 

Riv.     And  all  this  produced  by 

O'Cal.  A  few  passes  of  the  hand,  sir;  did  you  never  see  the  process? 
It's  the  simplest  in  the  world — it 's  in  this  manner.  (Passes  his  hand  over 

RlVERS'/rttV.) 


1 6  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT  I. 

Riv.  How  very  singular;  then,  if  I  understand  you,  you  and  my  son 
are  in  a  "state  of  agreement?" 

O'Cal.     Exactly  so. 

Riv.     Which  enables  you  to  control  all  his  movements? 

O'Cal.     Precisely. 

Riv.     How  very  wonderful ! 

O'Cal.  If  he  was  to  move  now,  I  'd  give  you  proof  of  it./\ Eh!  I  think 
he 's  stirring ;  now  observe,  sir,  by  raising  my  hand  in  this  manner  he  ex- 
tends his  right  arm,  and  by  dropping  it  so  he  lifts  his  left  leg.  (CHARLES 
obeys  his  directions.) 

Riv.     Why,  I  can't  believe  my  eyes. 

O'Cal.  Observe  again,  sir;  by  passing  my  hand  in  this  way  I  draw  off 
the  magnetic  influence,  and  allow  him  to  wake ;  then,  of  course,  the  pain 
returns,  and  he  exhibits  all  the  usual  phenomena.  {Makes  a  few  passes  ; 
CHARLES  pretends  to  make  turns,  writhes,  and  at  length  howls?) 

Riv.     I  see,  I  see. 

O'Cal.  And  now,  sir,  to  recompose  him.  (Makes  some  more  passes, 
and  CHARLES  sinks  back  again  into  sleep?) 

Riv.     It 's  absolute  magic. 

O'Cal.  And  yet,  sir,  it's  produced  by  nothing  more  than  a  motion  that 
way,  and  another  that.  (First  making  passes  at  RIVERS,,  and  then  tele- 
graphing CHARLES.) 

Riv.  This  is  a  very  wonderful  man ;  I  must  know  more  about  him. 
May  I  be  allowed,  sir,  to  ask  the  name  of  a  gentleman  so  skilled  in  his  pro- 
fession ? 

O'Cal.  (aside?)  My  name — that's  a  puzzler.  I  can't  say  O'Callaghan, 
on  Mrs.  M.'s  account. 

Riv.     If  you  Ve  a  card  about  you,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  receive  it. 

O'Cal.  A  card  !  why,  really,  sir,  I  'm  afraid  I — (feels  in  his  pocket)  yes, 
here  is  a  card,  sure  enough — my  fellow  passenger's — and  as  luck  will  have 
it,  he  's  a  doctor.  Ah,  the  very  thing — there,  sir. 

Riv.     "  Dr.  Banks,  No.  15  Rue  Victoire,  Paris." 

O'Cal.     Yes,  sir. 

A'/:',  (aside.)     Can  it  be  possible? — this  is  the  name  and  the 
Julia  s  father. 

O'Cal.  (aside.)     The  old  gentleman  seems  struck  with  me. 

Rii'.  U' .',-/./,•.)     That  unhappy  man,  who,  for  so  many  years,  has  been  e< 
tranced  from  his  family. 

O'L'a/.  (aside.)      It  '.s  my  card  that  tickles  him  ;  how  lucky  I  had  it. 

A'/r'.  (trs/tf,-.)  He  has  returned  to  England,  then,  and  in  this  unlooked- 
for  manner  found  his  way  into  my  house. 

Enter  JOHN,  L. 
JoJin.     Please,  sir,  when  would  you  like  dinner? 


; 

*    * 

: 

t    , 

: 


/     / 

X  e^ttf    T 


&    K 


SCENE  ii.]  HIS  LAST  LEGS.  17 


Now,  if  it  's  ready. 
O'Cal.  (its/lit-.)     Dinner!  that  sound  rouses  me  like  a  trumpet. 
AY:-.     Call  Mrs.  Montague. 

<>'<.'<//.  (iisiJt-.)     And  that  settles  me  like  an  avalanche.     [  A'.r//  JOHN,  i.. 
Dr.  Hanks,  I  hope  you  Ye  no  engagement;  you'll  dine  with  us  to- 
day ? 

'.?/.     Well,  sir,  I  've  no  objection.     I  always  like  to  eat  at  this  time  for 
a  philosophical  reason. 

AY:'.     Indeed,  what's  that  pray? 
<  >'(  'a!.     Because,  sir,  "  Nature  abhors  a  vacuum." 

AY:'.  (iisi'(/t\)  He  must  not  know  his  child  is  here,  at  least  till  I  ascertain 
his  sentiments  —  then  who  knows  but  I  may  be  the  means  of  bringing  them 
together? 

Enter  MRS.  MONTAGUE,  R. 

Mrs.  M.     Is  it  possible  ?  —  Charles  fast  asleep  ! 

AY?'.  Yes  Licldy,  without  pain  or  fever  ;  we  owe  his  ease,  perhaps  his 
life,  to  the  singular  skill  of  this  gentleman.  Allow  me,  sir,  to  introduce 
you  to  my  sister,  Mrs.  Montague.  (Leading  MRS.  MONTAGU  V  forward  ; 


Mrs.  M.     Can  it  be  ? 

Riv.     Why,  what 's  the  matter? 

J/V.s-.  M.    Support  me,  it 's  his  spirit.    (Sinks  info  a  chair,  R.,  screaming?) 

O'Cal.  Don't  be  alarmed,  sir — a  touch  of  the  falling  sickness,  that's 
all — limbs  weak,  mind  disordered,  eyesight  wandering. 

Mrs.  M.     Mr.  O'Callaghan  ! 

O'Cal.  Exactly  so.  There's  a  symptom,  sir!  takes  me  for  some  friend 
of  hers.  May  I  trouble  you  for  a  glass  of  water,  whilst  I  operate  upon  the 
lady? 

Riv.  I  '11  fetch  it  directly — how  very  odd  ;  is  there  an  epidemic  raging  ? 

[Exit  L. 

.Ifrs.  M.     Mr.  O'Callaghan,  what  does  this  mean? 

O'Cal.     Mean,  my  angel !  what  should  it  mean,  but 

Mrs.  M.     What  brought  you  here,  sir  ? 

O'Cal.     You,  madame. 

Mrs.  M.     I  ? 

O'Cal.  Of  course,  to  speak  to  you,  to  look  at  you,  to  gaze  upon  that 
face  once  more,  which  for  ten  long  years  has  been  the  one  bright  star 
amidst  my  darkness,  I  have  dared  all  things. 

Mrs.  M.     Is  it  possible  ? 

O'Cal.     It  is  truth,  by  all  the  pangs  that  I  now  feel  here — no,  here. 

Re-enter  RIVERS,  with  water,  L.  ;  BETTY  *auh.v-/wm  tkv  £ut'i 
Riv.     Here 's  the  water,  doctor. 


I  8  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT  II. 

O'Cal.     That 's  not  wanted. 

Bet.     Dinner 's  served,  sir. 

O'Cal.     That  is. 

Riv.     Is  she  restored  ? 

O'Cal.     Perfectly,  sir. 

Riv.     And  how  did  you  effect  it  ? 

O'Cal.     Oh,  the  old  way,  you  know.     {Makes passes.} 

Riv.     What  a  very  wonderful  man  ! 

Cha.  (aside}     Why,  what  the  deuce  !  has  he  been  magnetizing  my  aunt? 

Riv.  Well,  doctor,  will  you  give  Mrs.  M.  your  arm  ?  Now,  Betty, 
mind  no  one  disturbs  Charles — he 's  in  a  sweet  sleep  ;  and  really,  this  per- 
son's  talent  is  almost  supernatural.  (Exit  L. ;  O'CALLAGHAN  giving 
MRS.  MONTAGUE  his  arm,  is  following  /  CHARLES  rises  from  the  sofa.} 

Cha.     I  say,  old  fellow,  it 's  all  right. 

O'Cal.  Right ! — by  my  soul,  we  're  as  right  as  a  two-year  old  fox  on  the 
floor  of  a  henroost;  come  along,  my  angel.  {Leads  her  out ;  drop  de- 
scends} 


ACT     II. 

I. — Parlors  of  the  Villa,  same  as  Act.  /,  elegantly  fur  nisi 
opening  at  back  upon  a  lawn  ;  doors  L.  and  R. 

Enter  RIVERS,  with  JULIA,  at  door  L. 

Riv.     Now,  Julia,  we  're  alone,  and  I  can  make  my  disclosure.     You  ob- 
served that  gentleman  at  table  ? 

/«/.     Yes,  sir. 

Riv.     Did  you  feel  any  mysterious  inclination  to  throw  yourself  u] 
his  bosom  ? 

Jul.     Not  I,  indeed,  sir. 

Riv.     Of  course  you  recollect  your  father? 

JuL     I  regret  to  say  but  imperfectly;  you  must  rememember  he 
been  away  ten  years,  and 

Riv.     But  you  are  sure  of  one  thing,  that  he  resides  in  Paris  ? 

Jul.     Quite  sure,  sir. 

Riv.     And  you  know  even  the  street  ? 

////.     The  Rue  Victoire,  No.  15. 

l\iv.     Well,  then,  you  may  judge  my  feelings,  when,  on   asking  tl 
stranger  for  his  card,  he  put  this  into  my  hand.     (Gives  her  the  card} 

Jul.     Is  it  possible !     Oh,  let  me  fly  to  him  ! 


SCENF   I.]  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  19 


Not  so  —  that  might  ruin  all  ;  you  know  his  character  is  proud  and 
sensitive,  ami,  laboring  under  the  delusion  that  he  does,  he  must  be  ap- 
proached with  caution.  I  know  if  1  were  abrupt  with  him,  he'd  instantly 
take  fire;  I  must  get  him  alone,  lull  his  suspicions,  rouse  his  sympathies. 
Eh,  someone's  coming  —  perhaps  it's  he;  let  us  retire  a  moment,  and  pre- 
pare for  the  attempt.  {Exit  with  }  ULI  A  ifc/^iu  if1,  MI,  c. 


CHARLKS  <?////  O'CALLAGHAN  come  from  L. 

Cha.     So  you  liked  your  dinner? 

O'Cal.  My  dinner?  my  banquet,  sir!  Such  soup,  such  fish  and  wild 
fowl  I  never  saw  upon  table  —  and  as  for  the  claret,  by  my  soul,  when  I 
drank  it,  I  could  n't  help  wishing  I  had  as  many  mouths  as  the  Ganges. 

Cha.  But  tell  me  what  has  passed;  my  father,  you  say,  has  no  suspic- 
ions ? 

O'Cal.  Suspicions!  he's  as  confiding  as  a  sucking  pig;  he's  so  grate- 
ful for  the  good  I  Ve  done  to  you,  that  he  's  resolved  I  shall  sleep  here  to- 
night, in  order  to  be  near  my  patient. 

Cha.     Ha,  ha  !  how  very  kind  of  him  ! 

O'Cal.  Wasn't  it?  To  reward  his  anxiety,  I  begged  to  withdraw  and 
see  how  you  were  doing.  Of  course  I  find  you  much  better,  but  unable  to 
leave  home  for  a  fortnight. 

Cha.    That,  at  the  earliest. 

O'Cal.  Now  my  dear  friend,  I  must  tell  you  that  there  's  only  one  chance 
of  this  little  compact  of  ours  being  knocked  on  the  head. 

Cha.     And  what  's  that  ? 

O'Cal.     There  's  a  lady  here  that  I  had  the  honor  of  knowing  formerly. 

Cha.     You  don't  mean  my  aunt  ? 

O'Cal.  I  do  ;  and  as  she  has  requested  an  explanation,  I  suppose  the 
best  plan  is  to  confess. 

Cha.  Not  for  the  world;  she's  as  scrupulous  as  an  old  maid,  and  as 
Julia  is  her  friend,  she  '11  tell  my  father  instantly. 

O'Cal.     Oho  ! 

Cha.     You  must  satisfy  her  with  some  account. 

O'Cal.     But  what  if  she  is  rather  clever  in  investigating  accounts  ! 

Cha.  Well,  then,  if  nothing  else  will  do,  you  must  treat  her  as  you  have 
done  my  father  —  you  must  magnetize  her. 

O'Cal.     Why,  I  have  done  that  already. 

Cha.  Eh  !  why,  I  see  her  in  the  garden,  evidently  with  a  view  of  speak- 
ing to  you.  I  '11  leave  you,  then  ;  but,  for  heaven's  sake,  be  cautious  ! 

{Exit  through  door,  R. 

O'Cal.  Faith,  Felix,  my  friend,  I  begin  to  think  the  tide  's  turning  —  I  'm 
decidedly  in  luck  at  present  ;  I  'm  housed  here  for  to-night,  and  can  go 
back  to  town  with  a  sum  in  my  pocket  that  will  start  a  new  enterprise  ; 


20 


HIS    LAST    LEGS. 


[ACT  II. 


my  only  fear  is  my  old  friend  here,  she  who  was  once  to  have  been  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan.  How  odd  our  meeting,  after  ten  years'  separation.  Of  course 
she  forgets  the  past  now — she  has  a  husband,  and  though  she  was  forced 
to  marry  him,  she  must  like  him  by  this  time,  for  time,  they  say,  endears  all 
things ;  though  I  rather  doubt  that  maxim,  for  I  Ve  known  poverty  for  some 
years,  and  divil  take  me  if  time  has  endeared  that. 


MRS.  MONTAGUE  advances  from  the  back,  L.  c. 

Mrs.  M.     Mr.  O'Callaghan  ! 

O'Cal.  (turning?)     Mrs.  Montague. 

Mrs.  M.     At  length  we  're  alone,  and  of  course  you  cannot  wonder  at 
my  surprise.     I  really  thought  that  you  were  dead. 

O'Cal.     Well,  I  don't  say  I  Ve  been  living — I  Ve  been  a  sort  of  dervish 
since  we  parted,  a  man  who  wanders  and  fasts. 

Mrs.  M.     Then  your  present  profession  you  adopted  from  necessity  ? 

O'Cal.     Yes,  madame;  absolute  necessity,  I  assure  you. 

Mrs.  M.     Of  course  you  're  married  ? 

O'Cal.     Indeed  I  'm-ROt.     I  'm  still  punishing  the  sex  for  your  falsehood. 
I  'm  as  free  as  air-n^ncrns  empty. 

Mrs.  M.  (aside)     Poor  fellow,  then  he  has  kept  his  word  if  I  have 
I  am  to  conclude,  then,  that  you  're  aware  of  my  present  situation  ? 

O'Cal.     Oh,  don't  mention  it — consider  my  feelings. 

Mrs.  M.     You  have  heard  that  I  'm  a  widow,  and 

O'Cal.     A  what? 

Mrs.  M.     A  widow. 

O'Cal.  (aside)     Phililoo,  here  's  news  ! 

Mrs.  M.     T  is  now  only  six  months  since  I  have  left  off  mourning. 

O'Cal.     To  a  day,  madame.     I  have  counted  every  hour  of  it. 


-w- 


Mrs.  M.  I  heard  that  you  had  spent  your  fortune — that  you  'd  become 
very  dissipated. 

O'Cal.     And  can  you  wonder  ?  what  won't  a  man  do  to  stifle  his  despair  ? 

Mrs.  M.  (aside.)     Poor  fellow — how  his  attachment  touches  me  ! 

O'Cal.  Look  at  me,  madame — this  faded  form  !  this  sunken  eye  !  Did 
you  ever  on  the  coast  of  Cornwall  see  a  greater  wreck  ?  I  won't  afflict  you 
with  the  story  of  my  downfall.  Suffice  it,  that  since  I  lost  you  I  have 
passed  through  every  stage  of  misery,  from  sunshine  and  champagne  to 
clouds  and  heavy  wet. 


SCENE  i.]  HIS  I.A^T  LEGS.  21 

Mrs.  .If.  Well,  then,  to  explain  my  visit  here.  I  must  tell  you  that  the 
fortune  I  Ve  been  left 

(> \  \il.     Oh,  don't  speak  of  fortune,  you  know  how  I  dfcsmseit-\ 

Mrs.  Jf.  (<is/,/<:)  His  sentiments  are  as  noble  as  everV-is  an  estate  in 
Yorkshire,  which,  removing  me  from  all  society  I  am  anxious  to  exchange. 

( )'(  \il.  Oh,  then  you're  in  want  of  society,  and  you're  troubled  with  an 
estate  ? 

Mrs.  J/.     Exactly  so. 

,?/.     Well,  then,  my  darling,  how  lucky  is  this  meeting;  for  here  am 
I,  who  can  give  you  the  one,  and  relieve  you  of  the  other. 

Mrs.  M.     You  're  very  kind,  but  my  brother  will  do  that. 

( >'t'ii/.     Pooh,  pooh  !  it 's  not  a  brother  that  you  want ;  it 's  a  husband. 

Mrs.  M.     A  husband  ! 

O'Cal.     Of  course;  don't  you  say  you  want  to  change  your  estate? 

Mrs.  J/.     Well,  well ;  but  you  know  what  I  mean. 

O'Cal.  To  be  sure  I  do — that  you  liked  marriage  so  well,  you  would  n't 
object  to  repeat  the  mixture.  Well,  then,  here  am  I,  properly  done  up,  and 
ready  to  be  taken. 

Mrs.  M.     Now,  you  impudent  man,  you  know  very  well  that 

O'Cal.  It 's  a  fair  exchange — to  be  sure  it  is.  You  want  company,  and 
you  're  troubled  with  fortune.  I  want  fortune,  and  am  troubled  with  com- 
pany. 

Mrs.  M.     Well,  well,  we  '11  speak  of  this  at  some  other  time. 

O'Cal.  Some  other  time ;  would  you  tell  a  dying  man  that  you  '11  cure 
him  some  other  time  ?  Let  me  know  my  fate  at  once. 

Mrs.  M.     No,  no ;  when  we  go  to  town  you  can  write  to  me. 

O'Cal.  Write !  Why  write  when  I  can  talk  to  you — when  I  can  speak 
a  dozen  letters  on  the  spot,  and  you  can  look  back  a  whole  post-office  upon 
me  ?  (Seizes  her  hand  and  kneels?) 

Mrs.  M.     But  don't  kneel,  for  heaven's  sake ! 

O'Cal.  I  '11  be  as  pious  as  a  broken-kneed  post-horse  till  I  have  my 
answer. 

Mrs.  M.     But,  but — there  's  some  one  coming. 

O'Cal.     I  ask  an  answer ! 

Mrs.  M.     Consider,  for  heaven's  sake ! 

O'Cal.     An  answer.     (Drawing  her  towards  him.) 

Enter  RIVERS  from  the  lawn. 

Ri-v.     Dr.  Banks  !     (MRS.  MONTAGUE  screams  and  falls  on  O'CALLA- 
GHAN's  shoulder  ;  RIVERS  advances;  O'CALLAGHAN  makes  passes?) 
O'Cal.     Another  touch,  sir. 
Riv.     What— of  the  falling  sickness  ? 
O'Cal.     Exactly,  sir.     May  I  trouble  you  for  a  chair?     (RIVERS  places 


22  HIS    LAST    LKGS.  [ACT  I 


: 


one,  MRS.  MONTAGUE  sinks  into  it.} 

Riv.  Why,  bless  my  soul,  what  a  family  I  Ve  got !  Are  you  better, 
Lyddy? 

Mrs.  M.  Yes,  brother,  a  little  better.  And  how  provoking  this  intru- 
sion ! 

O'Cal.     You  see,  sir,  she's  still  disordered;  however,  if  she'll  only  a 
tend  to  my  advice,  I  '11  undertake  she  shall  have  no  relapse. 

Riv.     Then  pray  do,  Lyddy,  oblige  me  by  consenting. 

O'Cal.     Do,  my  dearest  madame — you  '11  oblige  both  of  us. 

Mrs.  M.  I'm  stronger  now;  if  you'll  allow  me,  I'll  retire.  (Ti 
O'CALLAGHAN.)  Oh,  you  bold  man,  what  am  I  to  say  to  you? 

O'Cal.     What,  my  darling?  why,  that  you're  mine  in  a  week. 

[Exit  MRS.  MONTAGUE  through  door, 

Riv.     Well,  doctor,  you  seem  to  understand  the  widow's  case  ? 

O'Cal.  Perfectly,  sir;  and  I  beg  to  say  I  sha'n't  leave  her — till  you've 
witnessed  a  change. 

Riv.  (aside.)     \Vhy,  his  humanity  is  equal  to  his  skill ! 

O'Cal.  (aside)     A  widow  with  a  fortune !     I'm  a  made  man  again  ! 

Riv.  (aside.)  Now,  then,  we  're  alone,  and  I  can  make  my  disclosure. 
(Aloud.)  Well,  doctor,  Charles  is  so  much  recovered,  he 's  actually  strong 
enough  to  take  a  turn  in  in  the  garden. 

O'Cal.     I  'm  glad  to  hear  it,  sir. 

Riv.     And  if  you  're  glad,  sir,  what  must  I  be — what  can  I  say  to  hi 
who  has  bestowed  on  me  this  happiness  ? 

O'Cal.  Well,  well,  my  dear  sir,  no  more  thanks;  I  really  don't  deserve 
them. 

Riv.  You  deserve  much  more  than  thanks,  sir,  or  the  poor  repayment 
of  a  fee.  You  must  admit  that  having  done  so  much  for  my  comfort,  I 
should  feel  a  little  for  yours. 

O'Cal.     Really,  sir,  I  thank  you,  but  (Aside.)     What's  coming 

now,  I  wonder — any  more  good  luck  ? 

Riv.     As  a  friend,  then,  and  anxious  to  display  my  gratitude,  allow 
to  say  that  I  am  acquainted  with  your  unhappy  history. 

O'Cal.     The  divil  you  are ! 

Riv.  I  know  the  subject  is  painful — I  feel  its  peculiar  delicacy ;  but  wit 
a  view  to  your  happiness,  allow  me  to  refer  to  your  wife  and  child. 

O'Cal.     My  what,  sir? 

Riv.     Your  wife  and  child,  sir. 

O'Cal.     Why,  you're  dreaming,  sir! 

Riv.     That  unhappy  pair,  who  for  ten  long  years 

O'Cal.     But  this  is  moonshine — I  am  simply 

A'/?',  (producing  his  card.)     "Dr.  Banks,  of  15  Rue  Victoire,  Paris. 

O'Cal.     Yes,  sir. 


>g 

I 


SCENE  i.]  HIS  LAST  I.KGS. 

Kn:     And  consequently  husband  «.f  my  friend  of    ( iuilford 

Street;  and  father  of  her  lovely  and  accomplished  daughter. 

i      l'hew! 

.      1  'in  not  surprised  at  your  language,  because  I  know  your  sad  im- 
pression that  your  devoted  \\iU-  is  unworthy  of  \our  regard. 
,-/.  (as:\tt-.\      Here  's  a  bog  1  Ve  walked  into! 

Hut  am  I  to  suffer  this  delusion  to  continue,  when  I  know  her  in- 
nocence— when  I  know  how  much  she  loves  you,  and  would  rejoice  at  your 
return! 

O'Cal.  (aside.}     What  the  devil  am  I  to  do? 

AY.-'.  You 're  silent — you  're  embarrassed.  Think,  sir,  if  your  wife  has 
erred,  has  she  not  atoned?  has  she  not  been  punished  by  ten  long  years  of 
suffering  estrangement? 

O'Cal.  (iisitJt'.)     Well,  I  'm  in  for  it,  and  on  I  must  go. 

AY?'.     Allow  me,  then,  to  hope  that  you  '11  respond  to  her  desires ;  that 

you  '11  magnanimously  consent  to  forget  the  past,  and (O'CALLAGHAN 

pulls  out  a  handkerchief  atid  turns  a-isay,  as  though  struggling  with  his 
feelings.)  Tears !  oh,  that 's  a  happy  sign.  Let  them  flow,  sir ;  nature 
has  no  ice  that  defies  a  thaw.  Let  them  flow  on,  sir,  to  assure  me  that 
(O'CALLAGHAN,  after  another  struggle,  turns) 

O'Cal.     Mr.  Rivers. 

Riv.    Yes,  sir? 

O'Cal.     You  cannot  wonder  at  my  agitation  ? 

Riv.     Wonder,  sir? 

O'Cal.     You  cannot  be  surprised  that  your  question  has  confused  me  ? 

Riv.    Of  course  not ;  you  didn't  expect  it  would  be  put  to  you. 

O'Cal.     I  own,  sir,  I  did  not. 

AY?'.  In  fact,  how  should  you?  you  didn't  know  I  was  aware  you  had 
a  family. 

O'Cal.     How  the  divil  should  I,  sir,  (aside)  when  I  did  n't  know  it  myself? 

AY?'.     I  feel  it  all,  sir,  but  since 

O'Cal.  Of  course,  sir,  since  it 's  been  discovered — and  since  you  say  my 
wife  is  contrite  for  her  conduct — conduct,  sir,  of  which  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  state  to  you  the  nature 

Riv.     You  will  pardon  and  receive  her? 

O'Cal.  (after  a  sigh.)     It 's  my  duty  as  a  Christian  ! 

Riv.  Then,  sir,  I  'm  overjoyed  to  tell  you  that  she  's  on  her  road  from 
London,  and  that  your  daughter  is  in  the  next  room. 

O'Cal.     What,  sir? 

Riv.  Yes,  sir — waiting  for  your  permission  to  approach  you.  Never 
had  I  greater  happiness  than  in  bringing  her 

O'Cal.     But,  Mr.  Rivers  — 

Riv.  No,  no ;  I  cannot  suffer  you  to  deny  me.  You  've  promised  to  re- 
ceive her,  and  you  shall.  [Exit  through  door,  L. 


24  HIS   LAST    LEGS.  [ACT  II. 

O'Cal.  The  divil  fly  off  with  him!  In  the  next  room?  By  my  soul, 
then,  I  'm  settled  within  the  next  minute !  I  am  ruined  entirely,  and  all 
with  good  luck.  An  hour  ago  I  hadn't  a  home  for  my  head,  or  a  friend  to 
my  back,  and  now  I  Ve  got  a  family  ready  made  to  my  hands.  What 's  to 
be  done?  The  girl,  of  course,  must  know  her  father;  she  will  expose  me 
on  the  spot,  and — by  my  honor,  she 's  coming.  Oh,  it 's  all  up  with  me ! 
here 's  my  old  luck !  I  'm  a  lost  man  !  I  'm  ruined  !  I  'm  done  for ! 
I'm  

RIVERS  leads  in  JULIA  from  door,  L. 

Jul.     Is  it  possible?  my  dear,  dear  father!     {Rushes  into  his  arms.} 

O'Cal.  (aside.}     It's  all  right,  by  Jupiter! 

Riv.  (aside.}     This  scene  repays  me  for  all  my  efforts. 

O'Cal.     My  beloved  child,  do  we  meet  again  ? 

Jul.     The  happiness  is  mutual,  be  assured. 

O'Cal.     Stop,  let  me  gaze  upon  you.     Oh,  how  like  your  mother ! 

Riv.  (aside.}  A  joy  like  this  is  too  sacred  to  be  intruded  on.  We  want 
now  but  the  mother  to  arrive,  and  the  good  will  be  complete. 

\_Exit  through  door,  L. 

O'Cal.  My  angel  of  a  girl!  But  how  much  you're  grown!  really! 
you  're  so  altered,  I  can  scarcely  recollect  you. 

Jul.     Is  it  possible  ? 

O'Cal.  If  I  hadn't  been  told  you  were  my  child,  I  never  should  have 
known  it. 

Jul.  And  you,  papa,  seem  very  unlike  what  I  expected ;  you  look  so 
much  younger  and  — 

O'Cal.  I  do?  But  then  appearances,  you  know,  are  sometimes  treach- 
erous. You  must  n't  suppose  I  am  exactly  what  I  look. 

Jul.     Why,  very  true. 

O'Cal.  (aside.}  By  my  honor,  she's  a  paragon;  who  would  n't  have  a 
daughter  ? 

Jul.  (aside}  And  to  suppose  he  was  so  cold  and  distant.  Oh,  how 
much  they  have  brcn  mistaken  ! 

O'Cal.  And  it's  ten  years  since  we  parted.  Why  it  seems  but  a  day 
since  I  carried  you  in  these  arms,  a  smiling,  lisping  baby.  Of  course  you 
don't  remember  the/; -o-cart  \  bought  you? 

Jul.     No,  papa,  I  don't. 

O'Cal.     Nor  the  /r>nn'  ring  when  you  were  cutting  your.teeth? 

Jul.     Nor  that  either,  strange  to  say. 

O'Cal.  (ns/'t/i-.)  Twoald  be  stranger  if  you  did.  (.-//<>//</.)  Oh,  when 
I  look  at  you,  what  recollections  rush  on  me.  Do  you  remember  the  oc- 
casion, Mary,  when  — 

Jul.     Mary?  do  you  forget  my  name,  papa?  it's  Julia! 


S.  i  NK  i.J  HIS  LAST  LI  25 

O'Ca/.     Julia — well,   of   course    it    is;  did    1    s.iv    M;n\  ."-      1    meant 
mother. 

fill.     But  her  name's  Sus.m  ! 

O'Ca!.  Yes,  that 's  IKT  real  name,  what  she  was  christened  with  ;  hut 
the  fact  is,  when  1  said  your  mother,  I  was  thinking  of  my  motl 

Jul.     Ah;  how  happy,  how  surprised  she'll  lie  to  meet  you! 

O'Ca  I.     No  doubt  of  it. 

Jnl.     But,  papa,  you  never  asked  after  John  ! 

\rCal.     John? 

Jul.     Yes,  papa. 

( >'c  \il.     And  who  the  divil  's  he  ? 

Jul.     Do  you  forget  you  have  a  son  ? 

O'Cal.  Why,  what  an  unnatural  villian  1  am;  I  really  talk  to  you,  my 
cherub,  as  if  I  were  a  stranger. 

Jul.     You  know  he  's  still  with  Mr.  Jones? 

O'Ca/.     Oh,  he 's  still  with  Mr.  Jones,  is  he  ? 

Jul.     And  you  Ve  heard  that  Mr.  Jones  is  removed  to  Clapham? 

O'Ca/.     Clapham — I  thought  'twas  Tooting.    And  how's  all  his  family? 

Jul.     His  family  ?     I  never  knew  that  he  was  married. 

(  ?Cal.     Was  n't  he  ?     (Aside.)     I  'm  remembering  too  much  here. 

Jul.  My  mother  will  tell  you  all  about  his  bankruptcy;  but  we '11  not 
think  of  that;  to  see  you  once  more  repays  us  for  all  losses. 

O'Ca/.  It  does,  my  child,  it  does.  (Aside.)  By  iny  soul,  this  affection 's 
mighty  pleasant.  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  be  as  well  off  with  her  mother? 
(A/oiitf.)  Julia,  you  cherub,  come  to  my  arms  !  (Embraces  her  again.) 

CHARLES  comes  from  R. 

Cha.     Infamous  girl ! 

Jul.     Mr.  Rivers! 

Cha.     And  you,  sir — villain  that  you  are. 

O'Ca/.     Villain,  sir? 

Jul.     For  heaven's  sake,  Charles,  do  you  know  who  you  speak  to  ? 

Cha.  I  speak  to  Miss  Banks,  who  I  believed  to  be  one  of  the  purest  of 
her  sex,  and  who  I  see  reclining  — 

O'Ca/.     On  the  bosom  of  \xxfathcr. 

Cha.     Her  father? 

O'Ca/.     Yes,  sir. 

Cha.     Impossible ! 

O'Ca/.  Oh,  of  course,  sir,  though  we  were  strangers  till  to-day.  You 
know  my  history  better  than  myself. 

Cha.     Julia,  is  this  the  truth  ? 

Jul.  It  is  indeed,  Charles — you  see  my  long-estranged,  but  much-loved 
parent. 


26  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT  II. 

Cha.     Why,  I  'm  amazed. 

O'Cal.     At  what,  sir?  that  the  young  lady  knows  \\t\  father ? 

Cha.     I  could  not  have  supposed. 

O'Cal.  But  you  hear,  sir — and  now,  sir,  may  I  ask  how  I  have  deserved 
the  name  of  villain  ? 

Cha.     Why,  sir,  I  confess  that  I  \vas  hasty. 

O'Cal.  Hasty,  sir !  you  break  in  upon  the  sacred  privacy  of  a  parent 
and  his  child.  You  interrupt  the  first  sweet  thrill  that  I  have  known  for 
ten  long  years. 

Cha.     But  you  '11  make  some  allowance  for  my  ignorance? 

O'Cal.     Your  ignorance!  I  thought,  sir,  you  belonged  to  Cambridge? 

Jul.     Dearest  father,  don't  be  angry  with  him. 

O'Cal.  Well,  my  child,  for  your  sake  I  will  not.  Mr.  Rivers,  though 
you  've  chosen  to  apply  to  me  a  most  opprobrious  term,  I  '11  show  you  that 
it  is  not  in  my  nature  to  revenge.  I  believe,  sir,  that  you  love  my  daughter. 

Cha.     Dearer  than  my  life. 

O'Cal.  And  it  would  make  you  happy  if  you  could  gain  my  approba- 
tion ? 

Cha.     Beyond  expression,  sir. 

O'Cal.     Be  happy,  then.     There,  sir.     (He  hands  her  over  to  him.) 

Cha.     Is  it  possible  ! 

O'Cal.     Take  her,  and  may  heaven  bless  you  both. 

Cha.     I  want  words,  sir,  to  express  — 

O'Cal.  (aside.)     Now,  that 's  what  I  call  magnanimity  f 

Cha.     Ah,  Julia,  what  happiness  ! 

Jul.  And  now,  Charles,  I  suppose  you  '11  not  object  if  I  embrace  my 
father? 

O'Cal.     My  darling  child.     (She  flies  to  him,  L.  c. ;  he  clasps  her  again.) 

MRS.  MONTAGUE  comes  from  L. 

Mrs.  M.     It  is  true,  then? 

O'Cal.    Mrs.  M. — oh,  murder!    (MRS.  MONTAGUE  advances  L.) 
Irs.  M.     The  monster,  to  deceive  me  so  ! 

Jul.  Dear  Lydia,  congratulate  me ;  allow  me  to  make  you  known  to  one 
who 

Mrs.  M.  You  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble,  Julia;  I  have  met  that 
gentleman  before. 

Jul.     Indeed ! 

Mrs.  M.     But  't  is  some  years  since,  and 

O'Cal.  (aside.)     Now  I  'm  deeper  in  the  mud  than  ever. 

Jul.  And  won't  you  welcome  him? — do,  I  implore  you — do,  for  my 
mother's  sake. 

Mrs.  M.    Your  mother's  sake,  indeed  ! 


SCI.M:  i.]  HIS  i  1ST   i  i  27 

////.  (rfj/V/i-.)      Charles,  what  ran  In-  tin:  cause  ,,f  this  ?--  something  | 
ha\  e  happened. 

'.  [  think  we  bad  better  leave  them,  love,  Hang  this  iVllow;  I  be- 
gin  to  have  a  Mran-e  misgiving.  1  must  ob  <  (/.,-<n/s  Jri.i.x  out 

at  Ihii 

Mrs.  M.  So,  Dr.  Hanks —for  that.  I  understand,  is  \our  real  name — it 
seems  that  you  're  married,  sir-  married  ! 

O'Ca!.     My  dearest  I.ydia! 

Mrs.  M.  Lydi.i? — how  dare  you.  sir.  address  me  by  that  name?  I  low 
dare  you  speak,  or  even  look  at  me,  ai'ur  the  deceit  \ou  have  practiced? 
— married ! 

O'Ca/.     Well,  but  if,   you  '11  hear  me  

J/r.v.  J/".  Not  a  word,  sir.  I  came  to  tell  you  that,  had  you  been,  as  I 
supposed,  a  free  and  honorable  man  I  was  prepared,  sir,  to  offer  you  my 
fortune  with  an  unchanged  affection.  As  it  is  

O'Ca/.  Here  's  a  tornado.  I  tell  you  you  're  deceived,  and  if  you  '11  al- 
low me  to  explain 

Mrs.  M.     Well,  sir,  what  have  you  to  explain  ? 

O'Ca/.  Why,  in  the  first  place,  then,  my  angel,  that (7>t//  rings 

violently  outside?) 

JULIA  runs  in,  followed  by  RIVERS,  L. 

Jul.     Dearest  father,  my  mother  has  arrived. 

O'Ca/.     Oh,  be  aisy.        . 

M'rs.  M.  (aside  to  O'CALLAGHAN.)     Now,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say? 

Riv.  (looking  off,  L.)     It  is  your  wife,  doctor,  I  can  see  her. 

Mrs.  M.  Profligate  man,  farewell  forever !  (Exit  through  door,  fe  c. ; 
O'CALLAGHAN  paces  the  room  ;  they  follow  //////.) 

O'Ca/.     Ten  thousand  divils  !  there  goes  a  home  and  a  thousand  a-year. 

Riv.  I  can  interpret  this  emotion.  Your  happiness  at  your  wife's  arrival 
is  too  great ;  it  overpowers  you. 

O'Ca/.     Yes,  sir;  'tis  enough  to  be  the  death  of  me. 

Riv.  Well,  then,  instead  of  your  immediate  meeting,  what  if  I  break  the 
news  to  her,  and  give  you  time  on  both  sides  to  prepare  ? 

O'Ca!.  Far  better,  sir,  far  better,  for  if,  as  you  see,  sir,  I  can't  express 
what  I  feel  to  you 

Riv.     Exactly  so. 

O'Ca/.     What  the  divil  could  I  say  to  her? 

Riv.  Well,  then,  doctor,  if  you  '11  wait  a  little,  I  and  Julia  will  come  to 
you  when  all 's  prepared.  Now,  courage,  my  dear  sir,  courage ;  all  your 
miseries  will  soon  be  over.  (Goes  off  with  JULIA,  at  back,  c.) 

O'Ca/.  Yes,  over  my  head,  and  down  they'll  be  coming.  If  my  angel 
has  left  the  house  without  an  explanation,  divil  a  glimpse  will  I  ever  get  of 


28  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACTII. 

her  again.  Here  's  my  old  luck,  as  I  'm  a  sinner.  At  the  moment  that  I 
thought  the  storm  was  past,  that  the  road  was  all  smooth,  and  my  team  in 
good  order,  out  comes  my  linchpin,  and  over  I  go  again. 

CHARLES  comes  from  $  c. 

C/ia.  So,  sir,  my  aunt  tells  me  that  your  name  was  formerly  Mr. 
O'Callaghan  ? 

O'Cal.     Well,  sir,  and  if  it  were  ? 

Cha.  Then  by  what  authority  did  you  give  my  father  the  card  of  Dr. 
Banks  ? 

O'Cal.     By  the  highest  authority — 'twas  the  only  one  I  'd  got. 

Cha.  But  if  you  took  his  name,  sir,  you  had  no  right  to  embrace  his 
daughter  as  you  did  ! 

O'Cal.  No  right,  when  I  had  not  seen  her  for  ten  years;  wasn't  I  forced 
to  be  affectionate,  to  keep  up  the  illusion  ? 

Cha.     But  you  were  not  forced  to  kiss  her,  sir? 

O'Cal.  And  do  you  grumble  at  that?  I  kissed  the  girl  solely  to  serve 
you — and  this  is  your  gratitude ! 

Cha.  Gratitude,  indeed!  however,  it's  all  over  now.  By  taking  this 
doctor's  name,  you  Ye  ruined  all.  Here  's  his  wife  arrived  ;  she  must  know 
you,  if  Julia  did  n't,  so  the  result  will  be  that  we  shall  both  be  exposed  and 
turned  out  of  the  house. 

JOHN  runs  in  from  garden,  C. 

• 

John.  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  here's  an  old  gentleman  been  knocked 
down  by  the  London  coach,  so  I  told  them  to  bring  him  to  you.  (Goes  out 
again  ^) 

OCal.     What's  that? 

Cha.  Ha,  ha! — now,  I  say,  old  fellow,  you've  got  a  job  in  earnest. 

{Exit  through  door,  L. 

O'Cal.  Well,  now,  I  suppose  things  have  come  to  a  climax — what  with 
a  man  who  wants  a  surgeon,  and  a  woman  who  wants  a  husband,  I  wonder 
which  party  I  'm  most  likely  to  satisfy?  What's  to  be  done?— I  see  but 
•one  way — to  run  to  the  inn,  write  a  letter  to  Lydia,  and  explain  everything. 

I  will ;  I  won't  delay  a  moment — I  '11  run  every  step,  and (Going  out 

at  back.} 

JOHN  and  Rouix  enter,  supporting  DR.  BANKS,  ».  C. 

Dr.  Banks,  by  all  that 's  marvelous ! 

Dr.  />'.  Is  it  possible!  my  fellow  passenger?  (They  place  him  in  a 
chair.} 

What 's  the  matter,  sir?     Is  your  neck  broke? 
/>'.     No,  thank  hcavrn,  nothing  broken. 


SCENE  i.]  ins  L.\^  29 

O'Ca/.  You're  quite  sure  of  that,  you 'IT  quite  positive  you  don't  want 
a  surgeon  ? 

Dr.  B.     Quite  so. 

O'Ca/.  My  dear  sir,  how  />/t-<?st-ii  I  am  to  hear  it.  John,  you  may  leave 
us.  [Exeunf  SERVANTS,  {.  C.)  And  now,  sir,  that  the  fright  is  over,  1 
dare  say  you  are  surprised  to  see  me  lien  ? 

Dr.  B.  I  am,  indeed,  sir;  but  not  less  gratified,  since  it  may  be  in  your 
power  to  do  me  the  greatest  sen  ire. 

O'Cal.     Indeed  !  then  I  beg  you'll  name  it.  and  have  no  modesty. 

Dr.  B.  You  are  aware,  perhaps,  that  I  have  a  daughter  in  this  house, 
who  has  been  parted  from  me  many  years. 

O'Cal.     I  have  heard  so. 

Dr.  B.  To  learn  if  she  will  go  back  with  me  to  France  has  brought  me 
to  this  country.  This  I  know  can  only  be  accomplished  by  a  private  meet- 
ing, and  this  meeting,  perhaps,  it's  in  your  power  to  obtain. 

O'Cal.     But  what  if  it 's  not,  sir?     Would  n't  your  7iv'/V  do  as  well? 

Dr.  B.     My  wife — no,  sir;  she  is  a  person  I  can  never  look  upon  again. 

O'Cal.  Well,  sir,  of  course  I  can't  refuse  you  ;  but  as  the  way  to  manage 
it  must  be  considered,  perhaps,  for  the  present,  you  '11  enter  this  room. 

Dr.  B.     This  room  ? 

O'Cal.     There  you  '11  not  be  interrupted,  and 

Dr.  B.     I  may  rest,  then,  on  your  friendship? 

O'Cal.  You  may,  sir;  and  in  the  meantime  you  can  rest  on  that  sofa. 
(DR.  BANKS  enters  room,  R.)  A  thought  strikes  me — here's  this  man  and 
woman,  that  have  been  parted  for  ten  years,  now  only  parted  by  ten  paces ; 
estranged,  perhaps,  the  whole  while  for  want  of  explanation.  Isn't  it  my 
duty,  then,  to  bring  them  together,  and  give  them  a  chance  of  confessing 
their  folly  ?  It  is.  But  stop  ;  what,  if,  when  brought  together,  my  philan- 
thropic wish  should  be  defeated  ?  What  if  these  bodies,  like  a  couple  in 
chemistry,  having  exhausted  their  attraction,  should  exhibit  repulsion? 
Why,  then,  I  '11  lock  the  door  till  the  ferment  is  over,  and  see  if  I  can't  pro- 
duce a  new  combination. 

Enter  RIVERS  from  §.  c. 

Riv.  Joy,  doctor,  joy  !  I  Ve  discharged  my  task.  I  've  disclosed  all  to 
your  wife,  and  she  waits  to  approach  you  in  a  tumult  of  happiness. 

O'Ca/.     She  does? 

Riv.     You  have  only  to  go  to  her,  and 

O'Cal.     Why,  upon  reflection,  I  think  not,  sir. 

Riv.     No — I  hope  you  don't  waver? 

O'Cal.  Not  I,  sir;  if  you  '11  be  kind  enough  to  step  for  Mrs.  Banks.  In 
that  room  she'll  find  her  husband.) 

Riv.     Never  did  I  deliver  a  more  welcome  message. 

[Exit  through  door,  ft.  c. 


30  HIS    LAST    Ll.GS.  [ACT  II. 

O'Ca/.  Now,  then,  to  use  the  language  of  history,  I  perceive  the  approach 
of  a  domestic  convulsion.  There  '11  be  as  fine  a  fight  in  that  room,  pres- 
ently, as  the  renowned  encounter  between  ,the  lion  Nero  andthe  clpir  BUI 
Where  shall  I  go  to  witness  it?  EivBmt  oofe  itfieTvery^  thing.  If! 
coming — but  stop,  I  '11  just  give  my  friend  a  hint.  (Opens  the  door,  R.,  and 
speaks  in  a  low  voiced)  Now,  sir,  prepare  yourself,  the  lady  is  approach- 
ing)  {Retreats, 

RIVERS'  comes  from   C.,  supporting  MRS.  BANKS,  whose  head  is  on  his 

shoulder. 

Riv.  Now,  courage — courage,  my  dear  madame,  a  few  steps  more, 
and  you  are  there.  You  must  remember  you  do  not  go  to  him  with  any 
doubt ;  he  is  anxious  to  meet  you,  anxious  to  fold  you  to  his  bosom,  and 
banish  every  difference.  (She pauses  a  moment,  then  enters  room,  R. ;  he 
closes  tJie  door  and  listens.)  Now  for  their  meeting.  There 's  the  window 
that  opens  on  the  lawn — capital.  Ji  ILptep  round  there,  and  witness  all  that 
passes.  {Exit  at  back,  fjr  d^fo'CALLAGHAN  comes  from  behind  the 
sofa,  L. 

O'Ca/.  All  silent  still — what  a  pause  before  a  battle.  I  'm  dying  with 
desire  to  hear  the  first  gun.  (DR.  and  MRS.  BANKS  heard  within) 

Dr.  B.     Susan ! 

Mrs.  B.     John ! 

Dr.  B.     Traitoress,  let  me  go  ! 

O'Ca/.  By  my  soul,  it's  beginning;  I 'm  just  in  time.  (Turns  the  key 
in  the  door  ;  DR.  BANKS  kicks  at  it ;  MRS.  BANKS  screams) 

Dr.  B.     Open  the  door,  sir ;  let  me  out ! 

O'Ca/.  Let  you  out  ?  not  I,  sir;  don't  I  know  you're  a  madman  that's 
not  fit  to  be  trusted,  and  ain't  you  now  safe  enough  in  the  arms  of  your 
keeper  ? 

Dr.  Jl.     Open  the  door,  sir,  or  I  '11  take  the  law ! 

O'Ca/.  The  law,  sir?  do  you  know  what  says  the  law?  That  you  shall 
live  with  your  wife  like  a  good,  decent  man,  and  not  leave  her  to  live  with 
herself  and  the  devil.  I  stand  here,  sir,  as  the  embodied  genius  of  the  law, 
as  the  voice  of  the  immortal  Coke  and  the  illustrious  Lyttleton,  which  says 
on  this  point  that  a  wife  being  flesh  of  your  flesh,  and  bone  of  your  bone, 
becomes  bony  fidt  a  part  of  your  body;  which  part  to  cut  off  is  a  capital 
crime  and  subject  to  judgment!  "(';/;;/  ropi  suspended  (Tauses  and 
listens.)  That's  settled  him;  he'll  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  talk  of  the  law 
again.  THey  're  silent,  —awfully  silent.  A  thought  strikes  me — what  if  this 
old  maniac  should  have  strangled  her  with  the  bell  rope,  and  escaped  up 
the  chimm  v  soul  I  must  look.  <  /'/,  I  \r  on  sc/a,  mounts  it, 

and  looks  through  a  fanlight.}  It's  all  right;  there  she  is  in  a  chair, 
rocking  ten  miles  an  hour,  and  he,  fixed  as  l.ite,  looking  ready  to  eat  her. 


SCENE  i.]  m-  LAST   i  i  31 

What's  conning  now,  I  wonder?  On  tin-  next  minute  hangs  my  destiny — 
stop,  he  asks  a  question,  she  sobs  an  answer— that 's  the  course  of  inquiry. 
Now  he  begins  to  walk,  and  she  begins  to  bellow — that's  t  of  na- 

ture. After  the  thunder,  we  're  sure  to  have  rain.  Now  she  begins  to 
speak,  and  he  begins  to  eool — that 's  a  good  sign.  She  asks  a  question, 
and  he's  forced  to  answer  it.  Better  and  better.  She  ean  only  sob — he's 
compelled  to  soothe.  Go  on,  my  darlings.  He  thing  kind — she 

looks  delighted.  By  the  powers,  it's  coming;  he  opens  his  arms — she 
rushes  into  them.  Phililoo  !  it's  all  right,  by  Jupiter  !  (  Waves  his  hand- 
kerchief^ 

Enter  RIVERS,  followed  by  CHARLES,  JULIA  and  MRS.  MONTAGUE,  c. 

Riv.     What  do  I  see  ? 

O'Cal.  The  human  mind,  sir,  in  it 's  finest  aspect,  sympathizing  with 
the  happiness  of  others. 

Rii>.     Then  who  's  in  that  room  with  Mrs.  Banks  ? 

O'Cal.     Who  should  it  be,  sir,  but  he  who  has  a  right  to  be,  her  husband  ? 

Riv.     Which  you  are  not,  sir? 

O'Cal.  No,  sir,  but  merely  his  friend,  who  entertained  the  wish  that 
you  did  to  see  his  misery  put  at  an  end  to. 

Riv.     But,  but — how  did  he  get  in  there? 

O'Cal.  -My  dear  sir,  what  can  it  matter  how  he  got  there,  if  he  has  the 
right  to  stay  there  ?  (RlVERSgoes  to  the  door  and  opens  it.) 

Riv.  Yes,  Julia,  there  is  indeed  your  father,  by  your  mother's  side. 
(JULIA  enters  room,  R.,  followed  by  RIVERS  and  CHARLES.) 

O'Cal.     And  now,  my  darling,  what  do  you  say  ? 

Mrs.  M.     What  can  I  say  ? 

O'Cal.     Am  I  the  monster  you  thought  me  just  now? 

Mrs.  J/.  You  are,  but  certainly  a  classic  one,  for  you  're  a  sphink ; 
there 's  no  understanding  you. 

O'Cal.  And  yet  if  'twas  necessity  caused  my  deceptions,  will  you  refuse 
me  the  means  of  my  deceiving  no  longer  ? 

Mrs.  M.     Not  if  I  was  sure  of  your  sincerity — but  ought  I  to  trust  you  ? 

O'Cal.     You  ought,  my  darling,  for  nobody  else  will. 

Mrs.  M.     Can  you  blame  me  if  I  doubt  ? 

O'Cal.  Of  course  not ;  but  you  should  imitate  the  law  courts,  and  give 
your  doubt  in  favor  of  the  criminal.  (She gives  him  her  hand.) 

t^<5U-X-^f         /£TV~     ^^X^^TA^C-VV 

DR.  BANKS,  JAJLIA/MKS.  BANKS,  RIVKRS  and  Oi  nfrfrom  R. 

Dr.  B.  Mr.  O'Callaghan,  in  my  present  happy  feelings  I  can't  be  angry 
at  your  stratagem,  but  pray  explain  to  me  by  what  means  you  — 

O'Cal.     My  dear  sir,  if  I  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  restore  your  peace 


32  HIS    LAST    LEGS.  [ACT  II. 

of  mind,  never  mind  the  means.  To  explain  would  only  confuse  me,  and, 
and  

Dr.  B.     Tell  me,  then,  what  return  I  can  offer  ? 

O'Cal.  Why,  sir,  if  you  're  anxious  to  be  even  with  me,  here  's  my  friend, 
Mr.  Charles  Rivers,  is  attached  to  this  young  lady,  and  if,  now  you  've  got 
back  a  wife,  you  've  no  objection  to  part  with  a  daughter 

Dr.  B.     I  can  have  none,  sir,  if  Mr.  Rivers  has  not. 

Riv.  I  ?  certainly  not.  I  wish,  however,  to  ask  you  one  question. 
(DR.  and  MRS.  BANKS  turn  away,  'with  CHARLES  and  JULIA.)  In  get- 
ting your  friend  here,  pray,  how  did  you  contrive  to  blind  his  suspicions  ? 

O'Cal.  How,  sir?  Why  you  know  my  magnetic  influence.  {Makes 
passes  with  his  hands?) 

Riv.  Oh,  that  way — that's  enough.  {Turns  away  to  the  party  ; 
CHARLES  advances?) 

Cha.  Well,  old  fellow,  I  find  you  Ve  a  trump,  after  all ;  but,  I  say,  I 
should  like  to  know  how  you  Ve  contrived  to  do  the  old  woman  so  nicely? 

O'Cal.  How?  why,  in  the  way  I  did  you.  {Makes  passes  ;  then  tele- 
graphs?) 

Cha.     Oho,  I  'm  satisfied.     {Turns  to  JULIA.) 

O'Cal.  But  I'm  not  satisfied  unless  the  experiments  I  have  made  this 
evening  meet  with  the  others'  approbation — unless,  now  the  tide  has  turned 
with  me,  and  I  am  restored  to  fortune,  that  fortune  is  enhanced  by  a  per- 
mission to  try  my  influence  on  some  of  the  fair  and  kindly  looks  I  see  be- 
fore me.  {Makes  passes  at  the  audience?) 


THE   END. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


IB 


I.h  21-100m-2,f56 

•  s22)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


